study abroad – Darkk Horse Travel

Today I quit my job.

And after letting those words sink in a bit, I feel ready to cry. In case you were wondering, I have the perfect job; amazing family, amazing hours, great kids and great pay. Most people would think I was insane to leave, and right about now I’m starting to feel the same way. I think nauseous would be the word for the day.

All of the above being said, I think it’s important to state that there is a difference between feeling sick about a decision, and feeling uneasy. If I, at all, felt uneasy about leaving my job, I wouldn’t. I would stay put until I was forty and the last kid had graduated from college. But I don’t. And I’m not sure whether I’m happy or mad that I’m being led somewhere else.

In life there are always those “vitamin” decisions that you have to make. The choices that taste like crap and you have to half choke, half gag, down. But you do it anyway, because you know that they’re important and will make you stronger in the long run.

But, of course, being the brat I am, that doesn’t mean my soul can’t be furious. Although I know that moving is the right thing, and that it’s better for my future, even though I’ve dreamed about this my whole life, and I’m more excited than words can say, I’m still (for some unknown reason) livid.

I think it’s because I’m being forced out of my comfort zone. Ha. I didn’t even think I had one of those anymore. But I do. Although, sometimes I think I’m so busy convincing myself that I live on the edge, that I forget that even the edge can become a safety zone.

If only I could clone myself and put one self here, and one in France. Then we could correspond with each other and I’d be able to live out both lives simultaneously. I know that’s ridiculous. But you can’t blame a girl for dreaming.

I’m slowly starting to realize that, as the days go by, and the weeks pass, I’m getting more and more anxious about this transition. Even today, when I was telling my current boss that I would be leaving, I replied to her “That’s so exciting!” with a “Yeah…I guess so.”

It’s hard taking leaps. It’s hard to be someone doing something that no one you know has successfully done. It breaks my heart to know I’ll have to say goodbye to the kids I’ve loved for 2 years. It breaks my heart that I’m going to have to say goodbye to my family for an indefinite amount of time. It breaks my heart that I won’t get to hang out with the same Seattle people that I’ve loved for the past five years. It breaks my heart that I won’t get to play soccer, or go to my church or stop in on old places I used to work.

Basically there’s just a lot of broken heartage right now. That’s not a word. I don’t care.

I will say, though, that tangled amidst the brokenness, there is some excitement for the possibilities of the future. It feels a bit like a blank piece of paper staring me in the face and daring me to write a best selling novel. But maybe that’s what I’m the most afraid of? Messing up a blank piece of paper.

I probably sound like a crazy person right now, but these ups and downs are real talk. Transitions are scary and rugged. They aren’t always beautiful dreams, Pintrest boards and taking French lessons.

But that’s life. We appreciate the ups because we remember the downs.

When I was in India, our motto was, “Yesterday’s ceiling is today’s floor.”

It means what we’re called to today, all the promises and hopes and dreams, risks and pursuits, are only the stepping stools of the promises of tomorrow. We are created to cast off the “okay” and walk forward in confidence. There is so much more for us.

I think I forget too easily that, in the midst of my chaos, I have access to peace that surpasses human understanding; that even when I’m having nervous breakdowns and throwing spiritual tantrums, there’s a still small voice whispering, “Peace, greater things are yet to come.”

Because, ultimately, it’s not in the green pastures and safety nets that we find vitality and calling. It’s when we’ve pushed ourselves beyond our comfort zones and continued to strive for the inheritance of purpose we are called to.

“We pray that you’ll have the strength to stick it out over the long haul—not the grim strength of gritting your teeth but the glory-strength God gives. It is strength that endures the unendurable and spills over into joy, thanking the Father who makes us strong enough to take part in everything bright and beautiful that he has for us.” (Colossians 1:11-14)

The window view from where I stayed in London.

Have you ever done one of those trust fall exercises, where someone stands behind you and you roll back on your heels, hoping they’ll catch you before you meet the floor? Me neither. Because I think they’re mildly pointless and dangerous.

But, I think they happen to be the best illustration for how I feel this week. Yesterday was an extremely exciting day because I sent in my application for a French university. Hopefully, I would be attending the school starting this fall and throughout the time I’m living in France (fingers crossed!).

Initially, when I got my au pair position, I hadn’t thought about going to a university. It wasn’t in my budget, and I thought I’d probably just look for a short and sweet 10 weeklong program instead. Taking some kind of French language/culture courses, as an au pair, are required by law – but they don’t have to be at a university.

When the family I’ll be living with suggested the University of Orleans, I started to question my strategic “easy button” on educating myself while I was there.

There are two options at the Universitaire D’Orleans. You can either attend for one semester and stop, or you can attend for two and then graduate with a French certificate stating you are qualified for whatever a French language certificate qualifies you for.

At first I thought, “Cheaper option – duh.” And started filling out my application for one semester. But then, as the deadline got closer, I started to feel uneasy. It didn’t feel right taking the “easy way” out and not completing the program. And that little inner voice wouldn’t give me peace about it AT ALL.

So, instead, I changed my application over to the one-year program. Instantly I felt better. Having made the insane decision, I started looking at the numbers, because that’s what I always do. They don’t add up. Like I said before, attending college wasn’t in my plan when I decided to move to France.

But, then again, moving to France wasn’t in my plan when I decided to move to France, either.

While I was visiting my grandparents this Easter my grandma stopped me on the stairs, as I was leaving, and asked me, “Have you prayed about this [moving to France]? Do you have peace about it?”

Like most of my family members, she’s worried. I will be the first girl in my family to live abroad, and one of the first to have been to Europe. It’s foreign territory, and scary to think about, when I ask my family for their blessing.

But, when my grandma asked me that question, I was able to stand there, smiling slightly, and answer with confidence, “Yes.” I have total peace. Total confidence in where I’m going and what I’m doing. Does that mean I’m not terrified? No.

But, amidst the chaotic feelings to dig a hole and hide, I have a “peace that surpasses understanding”(Phil 4:7) aka peace that makes absolutely no logical sense.

I have no idea how I’m going to afford living in France for a year. How I’m going to pay student loans, and other expenses, when my living stipend is less than a quarter of what I make right now. I don’t know how I’m going to afford going to college for a year, when it would be smarter to go for a semester and call it good.

All I know is that I’m called to risk greatly. To step out into unknown territory. To boldly go where no man has gone before – kidding (Trekkie nerd alert).

Right now, I’m stepping out into something that could turn out to be crazy. I am risking greatly, following an inner guide who has never failed me before.

It doesn’t make sense. Maybe nothing worth succeeding at ever does. But right now I just have to fall, trusting that, seconds before I hit the floor, I’ll be reminded that someone had my back the entire time.